


A Pointy, Posh Grindylow

by OTPshipper98



Series: Harry Potter in English [25]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Duelling, Flustered Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts Fifth Year, M/M, Powerful Harry Potter, Sexual Tension, Slytherin Harry Potter, smug harry potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:15:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98
Summary: “Why don’t we duel, Malfoy? Just you and me, tonight, in the Room of Requirement.”





	A Pointy, Posh Grindylow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [keyflight790](https://archiveofourown.org/users/keyflight790/gifts).



> Written for the prompt "Slytherin!Harry". Beta'd by the lovely Keyflight790 <3

It happens on a rainy, dull November evening.  

Harry's sitting by the hearth, legs sprawled on top of Blaise's as they listen to Millie's rant about the Arithmancy exam. Well, or at least Blaise is listening. Millie's words, though shrill, can't catch Harry's attention — he's focusing on Malfoy's lips as they murmur the words he's reading in an almost absent-minded manner.

Malfoy's alone. That's not a surprise. What is, though, is the fact that he's playing with his hands. He's never done that before, and it's driving Harry mad with curiosity and suspicion.

And so he stares.

"Is he even listening to me, or is he mentally murdering Malfoy again?"

Grey eyes meet his, alerted by Millie's exasperated words. They're open wide with a mixture of annoyance and curiosity, and Harry holds his gaze, determined not to feel embarrassed by the fact Malfoy has caught him looking.

And then Malfoy blushes.

It's almost imperceptible, and Harry has to squint to confirm that — yes, Malfoy's cheeks are definitely stained pink. And his hands have fallen still, clasped together.

"Salazar, at least pretend you're paying attention," Pansy cuts in, smacking his ankle from Blaise's other side.

Harry doesn't know when she got there, and he doesn't care enough to ask. He lets his legs drop and stands up. "Malfoy's up to something," is all he says before he strolls towards the git in question, words of accusation at the ready.

Malfoy stares him in the eye as he approaches, then raises an eyebrow and leans back on his chair. "What do you want?"

They've never gotten along, and Harry knows Malfoy regrets it — regrets everything he said when they were first years. Still, Malfoy plays it cool, staring at Harry as though he doesn't envy him — doesn't envy everything Harry is, and he isn't.

"What are you doing?"

"Replying to my questions with other questions, are we, Potter? How mature of you," Malfoy snides, brushing a stray strand of hair behind his ear. "I'm reading a Potions textbook. Is there a problem with that?"

Harry's already tugging at the book.

"Seventh-year Potions? A bit weird of a book for a fifth year to read, don't you think?"

Malfoy shrugs. "I could brew every potion in our textbook blindfolded. But of course, I don't expect you to understand — it's not your fault you can't tell toad slime from your own piss."

Harry has to bite his tongue. It's been almost four months since their last fight, and he doesn't want to disappoint Slughorn again.

"I may not be as good as you are in Potions," he says instead of the insult at the tip of his tongue, "but I'm better than you are at everything else."

“Oh really?” Malfoy sneers. “Well then, why don’t you prove it? If you’re _so good_ at everything, you won’t have any trouble, I don’t know, translating my Ancient Runes homework for me. Or wait, why don’t you read my future, seeing as you’ve always _excelled_ in Divination?”

“Those are all amazing ideas, coming from a head as empty as yours,” Harry retorts, “but I’m afraid I have a better one.” He leans over Malfoy, face to face, and, undisturbed by his sneer, says, “Why don’t we duel, Malfoy? Just you and me, tonight, in the Room of Requirement.” At the widening of Malfoy’s eyes, he adds, “Unless you’re too scared of ending up in the Hospital Wing.”

“Sod off, I’m not scared of you!” Malfoy spits, suddenly standing up. “Fine, I’ll duel you. But if I win—”

“You aren’t going to.”

“ _If I win_ ,” Malfoy repeats. “You leave me alone. For good.”

“Is that really what you want?” Harry taunts him. “And here I was, thinking that you loved having my attention, given the way you flushed when you realised I was staring at you.” Malfoy’s cheeks blossom with a pretty red tinge again, and Harry smirks. “If _I_ win,” he murmurs, stepping closer and right into Malfoy’s personal space, “you don’t get to tell me to leave you alone. Ever.”

Malfoy raises an eyebrow. “Since when are you so invested in being friends with me, Potty? What was it you called me last year? _Pointy, posh version of a Grindylow_?”

Yes, those are exactly Harry’s words from their fourth year. And of course, they’re still utterly true. Malfoy’s still a pointy, annoying git. And yet, Harry’s feeling _something_ flowing down the pit of his stomach at the look in Malfoy’s eyes — like fury and contempt, yes, but also _better_. Like fighting Malfoy’s a challenge, a game, and he’s ready to win.

He’s missed it.

“It’s exactly what you are,” Harry says, staring right into his steel eyes. “Save yourself the heartbreak, I don’t want to be your friend. But I’m gonna keep an eye on you, Malfoy.” He eyes the Potions book one last time, ensuring the git gets the message. “So don’t even think of trying anything stupid.”

 

* * *

 

Malfoy falls on his butt, and Harry can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. “Ready to give up?”

“In your dreams.” Malfoy stands again, his face contorted. He draws his wand, and Harry waits, if only just to treasure the look on Malfoy’s face as he tries and fails one more time.

“ _Levicorp—_ ”

“ _Protego!_ ” Malfoy groans as his spell explodes against Harry’s shield. He looks dishevelled, enraged, and Harry smirks again. “I could do this all night, you know?” Harry taunts him. “And given the way you blushed at my attention earlier, I bet you’re enjoying our time togeth—”

“Shut up!” Malfoy suddenly yells. “I—you—just—shut up, okay?!”

He points his wand at Harry again but doesn’t add anything further. He’s obviously looking everywhere and anywhere but at Harry.

Despite the words that are forming in his mind, Harry stays silent. A few moments later, Malfoy gives in and meets his gaze. Still, Harry doesn’t speak. He’s determined to know what’s going on in Malfoy’s head, and knows exactly how to get what he wants.

Malfoy looks away, then back at Harry. His facial expression wavers, losing its stubborn determination, if only for an instant. “ _What_?” Malfoy finally prompts.

Harry raises his eyebrows, just pointedly enough for Malfoy to think he may have imagined the gesture. “You know what.” It doesn’t matter that Harry most definitely _doesn’t_ know what the hell he's talking about, because Malfoy’s already caving in from the pressure.

“No, I don’t, Potter. Stop talking nonsense and—and leave me alone!”

“Are you admitting defeat, then?”

Malfoy _groans_. It's deep, and pained, and he shrinks with the force of it, like Harry is rapidly driving him _mad_.

Harry loves every second of it.

“Because if you admit defeat, I win,” he says. “And if I win, you don't get to tell me to leave you again, remember? So you have two options. Either you fight me, or you—”

Malfoy doesn't let him finish — he launches forward and pushes Harry against the chest. Harry stumbles back, and Malfoy stands still, his fists clenched, his breathing ragged.

“You have no idea what you're talking about,” he spits through gritted teeth. “You think you do, but you know _nothing_ about me! I'm not — I'm not one of your stupid admirers who fan themselves as they follow you through the hallways. I am  _not_ one of them. I have _dignity_. And I demand that you — that — um.”

Slowly, Harry caresses his way down Draco's cheek, letting his fingers trail the little veins in between the splotch of red that has blossomed there. Malfoy’s small gasp makes him smile. That's exactly the reaction he was expecting.

“You're blushing.” He steps forward. They're exactly the same height, which allows him to easily grace Malfoy’s cheek with the tip of his nose. “Your chest is heaving.” He brings his lips close to Malfoy’s ear. “You're practically shivering from the slightest of physical contacts.”

Ignoring how much he's enjoying making Malfoy come undone, he slowly, deliberately brings a hand to a loose strand of hair on Draco's face, tucking it behind his ear. His hair is usually pristine, but duelling has left it dishevelled. “You may not proclaim your feelings for me publicly, but you and I know they are there, Draco.”

Malfoy’s name feels good to say, he decides.

“I—” Malfoy swallows, gasps. In a pathetic, shaky voice, he utters, “I don’t have feelings f—”

“Shhh.” Their lips are brushing now. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

When Malfoy’s eyelids fall closed, Harry brings a thumb to his fine lips, dry from his heavy breathing. He has a moment to think, to acknowledge the heat running through his body, the way he’s a bit breathless too. The way he’s fixating on Malfoy’s lips and moistening his own with the tip of his tongue.

A second passes, and he drops his hand. Malfoy looks at him again, his gaze a mixture of confusion and disappointment, and the desperation of it makes something inside Harry break. He catches Malfoy’s lower lip with his teeth, and as frenzied hands grasp and pull at his hair, he steps closer, holding on to Malfoy’s lower back and tasting him properly. They kiss, sloppily, eagerly. Malfoy practically clings to him, as though the idea of letting go scares him.

When they part to gasp for air, Malfoy, eyes still closed and hands all over Harry’s robes, breathes, “Okay. Okay, you win.”


End file.
